


here (in your arms)

by chansuk



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Kiss, Hand Job, M/M, Somewhat established relationship, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chansuk/pseuds/chansuk
Summary: three drabbles of blossoming markjae
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Mark Tuan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. untitled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gayluna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayluna/gifts).



> for jade, as always
> 
> wrote all three of these in 2015 under the psued kookseok, then deleted them all. reposting them for her bc they were her favorite; including the first one as a prelude to their relationship.

mark isn’t exactly the best at expressing his feelings. he’s not good at stringing words together to form sentences that would make any sense. he’s not good at telling people how he feels, or knows when to throw in a joke or two, but it wasn’t until his second year in university that he met someone that made him feel as though he’d spoken without truly speaking. it alleviated the stress he felt from his friends and how often they teased him about his mute personality. it’s just— he didn’t know what to say and when he managed to shred off a bit of that exterior and muster whatever bit of courage he had, the conversation had digressed. 

so he’s spent a good portion of his life keeping it all inside to brew and broil, never really giving it much attention after awhile. however, during his second year he met youngjae, someone who managed to do what mark couldn’t do with such grace that he found himself at a loss. “it’s okay,” youngjae had said during their third encounter, a small smile gracing his lips. “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. _everyone’s different._ ” 

it felt like everything mark had ever experienced suddenly lifted from his shoulders and _finally_ he could breathe with ease. he didn’t have to think twice about what he said or when the proper time to say something was just because he wanted them to know that he was listening. he’s had so many people withdraw him from their lives that talking had become a fear. it never came easy and even though mark had spent so long trying to perfect even just the smallest things, someone always came along and managed to make him feel as though his words, what he felt, were nothing but footprints on a beach when the tide was rising. 

so when youngjae had come into his life, all eye creases and bright smile, mark had felt something stir in him. he wanted to try harder, speak louder, even though youngjae had no qualms about his silence. he wanted to believe they fit, like he found someone who knew everything about him without asking, because after a few more encounters a simple nod or small input was able to set youngjae off in a storm of outward thought. it was interesting, down to the last bit of it, to see someone able to do what mark had longed to do. he should have felt jealousy of some sort but there was this pull he felt the longer he stayed in youngjae’s presence that made him feel complete in a way—made him feel like a part of something greater; it was all he ever wanted.

what made mark feel the slow encumber of happiness though was during a cliche coffee endeavor when youngjae had asked him what he liked to do. it was the most basic question in the book— simplicity in its finest— but when mark started speaking youngjae gave him his full attention, paid close consideration to every detail. it was something mark had only ever experienced a few times in his life, because being _different_ was what made him a black sheep in a field of white. 

and the longer he stays by youngjae’s side the slow realization that difference is what makes him _him_ flourishes like blossoms during a early spring morning. youngjae never gets tired of it, not having an equally distributed conversation, and mark finds a comfort in that— finds a solace in the way youngjae is open and understanding down to the very core of his being. so when they have a conversation, unhinged and unadulterated, the silence that follows is never truly _silence_. that dead space becomes a touch or a look and mark doesn’t have to think about it. he doesn’t have to spend that time worrying that he’s done something wrong, or trying to think of what to say that will make them stay. 

youngjae becomes more than a sentence in his life— it’s as if mark is prose and youngjae is the dialogue that completes it. that’s all he ever needed. 


	2. playdate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first kiss

mark can't seem to focus. his bed is covered in a strewn of papers and pens because youngjae just can't seem to choose the right one, and the textbook on his lap weighs heavy. however, it's not the mess that's bothering mark, it's the shoulder to shoulder touch that's leaving him hung up on a clothesline during an awfully warm spring day, billowing in the summer breeze. this isn’t the first time, nor the second or third, and he can’t quite seem to calm the flourish of butterflies that bloom at the bottom of his stomach—it’s as if they’ve never left and he’s choking on impatience. 

he fiddles with the eraser of his pencil, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to review the passage for the umpteenth time, coming up short when youngjae shifts next to him and presses himself closer. mark’s eyes graze over the fine tips and dips of youngjae, exclusive in their nature but all the more appealing. the light from the window filters in through the curtains and gold specks flitter about in the glow it castes over the bed, brushing youngjae’s shoulders and splaying across the base of his neck. it radiates, permeating even the coldest parts of his exterior, but he supposes it’s just youngjae’s presence.

choi youngjae was everything mark imagined the definition of the sun to be. he was brilliant and warm— mark had easily fallen into the fathomless pit of his ebony eyes. he was the small peak of light in the dark of his life, because life was an overbearing ease that dragged not one but all. although, if there was one thing mark loved the most about the younger male it was when he would smile, eyes crinkling and all— as if mark had spent so long inside and under the blooming ray of warmth hidden under youngjae’s smile it felt as though the sun was planting firm but tender kisses to his moonlit skin.

this was best comparison mark could put into words. 

youngjae mumbles something, turning a page, the soft sound of paper echoing around the room. mark can’t help but softly chuckle at the lock of hair that comes down to tickle the outskirts of youngjae’s eyelids. when youngjae hears, he turns to the side and looks at mark with parted lips and wide eyes. mark brings a hesitating hand up, pauses just before he makes one gentle sweep of his index finger to brush the hair aside; youngjae stills. mark scans over the beauty mark nestled under his eye, down the soft curve of his nose and atop the bow of his lips—a landscape so divine he wonders if the real thing could ever compare. the same index finger gently sweeps across youngjae’s bottom lip, a smile gracing his lips when youngjae’s tongue darts out in wonderful appeal.

“is this okay?” mark whispers, thumb grazing across youngjae’s jawline. 

youngjae’s nod is slight, but apparent in the way his cheeks come to life, a pale rose garden blooming under the precarious glaze of the sun. mark falls apart and takes that leap, bringing his lips to gently graze youngjae’s, light and coy in their touch. 

it’s sweet the way youngjae’s lips fit perfectly against mark’s. it feels as though this was meant to be, meant to happen in the many universes that rest parallel of their own. mark pulls back slightly, lips softly brushing against the boy’s while a sigh wisps out of youngjae, his eyes fluttering open as they gaze at mark. he doesn’t say a word, both of them lingering longer than the appropriate time for combustion. 

after a prolonging moment, still in the midst of their youth, youngjae whispers mark’s name against the breadth of pause. he brings a shaking hand up the curve of mark’s neck and pulls him close— an invitation into the depths of the unknown. mark’s lips flourish a spring upon youngjae’s neck and it’s all so comforting. they plunder into the crevices and leave no spot unscathed as youngjae’s heavy sighs against mark’s ears instill an excitement that blooms a rush of gold from the base of his neck and into the folds of his mind. his hands flitter over the expanse of mark’s chest, like a weak moth at the sight of light, and their unhesitating touch breaks the barrier of their limitations. 

mark lightly places his hand on youngjae’s shoulder and tugs at the seams, revealing moonlit skin. a sough escapes through youngjae’s parted lips: a breath of surrender, and mark presses his lips to the moon. 

it feels right. it feels like everything he’s ever wanted— to hold youngjae in his arms and pluck the bouquet of their awaiting affection. the small whimper youngjae does when he presses his lips flush against his once more—both inexperienced, untouched, and all the more eager—is saccharine to his ears; the warmth of youngjae’s touch sinking dermal deep and into the marrow of his bones.

a sound breaks the resonating ring of their atmosphere and they pull apart in a hurry, papers crunching underneath their weight, breathing labored and eyes glossy. the tips of youngjae’s ears are tinged with a cherry red, and the blossoming splotches of fuchsia on his neck appear sweet and alive during this break between seasons. silence grows like desire seeping into newfound relationships, both scrambling to find some sort of relief from the tension that settles over them like a fog. 

mark smiles, unabashed and thankful as a long minute passes by without surprise, fingers fiddling with a loose string hanging off a rip in his jeans. his heart is pounding wildly, from the fear of being caught and the joy of being wound in the one thing he admires, feels that beat in his chest, his throat, and in his ears. he feels the goosebumps on his skin tingle, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up when he remembers the feel of youngjae’s hands against his skin.

within moments youngjae is chuckling from the other side, papers crumpled underneath his knees and shirt loosely hanging off his shoulder, placing a firm hand on the exposed skin. mark tries not to smile at the whole ordeal, apologizes for the mess he created, and crosses the short distance between them both. it’s sweet, gentle this time around, and lasts long enough for both of them to understand what this truly means. 


	3. you have touched me and i have grown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mark gives youngjae a handjob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing smut is literally so embarassing. that is why all my stuff is g-rated

youngjae glances at mark from across the small space separated between them on the bed and trace the meridians of his face, the curve of his eyes as his eyelashes softly flutter like the slow bat of a butterfly’s wings. he dips down the edge of mark’s nose and settle’s upon the bow of his lips and thinks about how much nicer they would look when they whisper tender words against ear, how saccharine they would sound. the honey suckle sweet he tastes whenever they press their lips close, plush and warm against one another as gold dust litter at the base of youngjae’s neck and spread throughout, the muted glow in his chest brightening inside the cages of his chest, tender vines of love wrapping around each rib and pulling him open.

mark notices the flicker of hesitation in the younger’s eyes; the glaze of newfound experiences hindering them from crossing the barrier settled between them so but mark reaches out, fingers spelled across youngjae’s knee cap as he fills that pause with something a little more personal. 

and when youngjae breathes, slow like the pull of the ocean as it licks at the edge of the shore, his lungs fill to the brim with a blooming sense of warmth and solace, the very essence of mark alluring, and his mind fogs the longer they exchange silent words of promise. truth will seep from the tips of mark’s fingers as they graze across the expanse of his skin, nimble in their nature when they skitter across the edge of youngjae’s shirt, splaying against the soft of his stomach. they warm the longer they’re pressed against his skin, slowly wrapping around to the small of youngjae’s back to press him closer, _deeper_ into the oblivion they face at the edge of their galaxy. 

mark whispers his name, breath warm against his lips and igniting a rush of anticipation to run through him, to settle deep and fray the edges of his patience. the longer mark kisses him, the more it wears thin and the more he unfolds in his tender graces, pliable underneath his very touch. it happens much like the first time, and the next, and the more youngjae grows accustomed to the way mark traces patterns across his skin, marks the spots of him he finds not worthy with the soft brush of his lips and words that permeate within, and loves him in ways he never thought possible, the more he _feels_ it. 

they’ve never gotten farther than this, the harmony of their kisses and the tempo of their touch creating a symphony in the piece that are their firsts. mark is careful— like a delicate breeze that tousles the tips of a lavender field, the strands billowing softly in a wave-like pattern across the horizon. mark puts youngjae’s needs above his own, offers a reassuring hand and litters the space between them with questions of wonder and sureness; youngjae has never felt so _special_. 

mark’s other hand rests at the waistband of youngjae’s shorts, rubs his thumb against the cloth as he quickens the pace of their kiss. there’s this yearning pitted deep within and it’s something youngjae wants to explore, to delve into its fathomless pit and bring mark along for the ride. they’ll be consumed in the depths of his wants with hands reaching out into the darkness, but they’ll still find each other and trace the patterns of their relationship across each others skin. youngjae will write stories across mark, with dialogue along his spine and sweet prose against his lips, and mark will write poems on youngjae, verses of unbounded love and happiness, poems that spoke like the sun and its impending need to bring warmth and happiness to everything it touches. 

mark lightly nips at youngjae’s bottom lip before pressing his lips against his once more, a brief pause in the interlude of their novel when mark asks, “can i?”

youngjae’s head swells as goosebumps litter themselves across the landscapes of his body, the peaks of his frame as they hang themselves up in the gala of obscurity and divine revelation. mark’s breath is warm against his cheek, the high points of his cheeks tinged a red only youngjae knows exists in the palette of mark’s features, how this shade only blooms to life when they’re painting masterpieces with billowing touches and eager hands; youngjae nods, slow and sure. 

mark is gentle, reassuring in his touch as he slowly dips him down onto the cushion of the bed. youngjae’s legs slightly dangle off the edge as mark pulls away, hovering above him. the dim light filtering in through the curtains of mark’s bedroom subtly splay across the features of his face and it’s _warm_ , makes youngjae want to reach out and hold all of him. 

mark leans on one hand as the other slips under the band of his shorts, and youngjae wonders if this is what he expected to happen, was _hoping_ would happen when he decided to not wear underwear this morning. the smug grin on mark’s face when he realizes this has youngjae swallowing, his ears warming the longer they keep their gaze locked, and when mark wraps his hand around youngjae the small sound that escapes his lips has him gleaming. 

youngjae has only ever felt mark through the thin cotton of their clothes, the bow of his lips against his and the way they sometimes sleep shirtless together when the summer days run too hot and they can’t be bothered with material things. though, youngjae has never felt the slow work of mark’s fingers against him, jerking him off slowly before running his thumb over the tip. it’s new, _different_ , and something he’ll have no problem getting used to but this becomes a step in their relationship greater than that of mankind and their fascination with the moon. 

when mark tightens his grip just a bit, youngjae’s breathy sighs become a little more vocal, small in their nature but all the more resonating against the enclosed walls of their safe space. he should be embarrassed, should find the fascinating glaze that’s pouring out of mark’s eyes to be of the utmost hindering in any way, but there’s something odd at how it leaves him feeling wanted—how even in moments like these mark still finds him just as beautiful. 

youngjae’s hands fist in the comforter when mark picks up his tempo, does things that leave him feeling wracked and unable to form coherent sentences while the only sounds that escape his mouth are the moans that beg for mark to go a little faster. he bites onto his bottom lip, aware of the feeling that starts to bloom at the base of his spine. he reaches out, fingers grasping onto the cotton of mark’s shirt that hang off his shoulders and lets out a mewl. 

“come for me, youngjae.” mark’s cheeks are flushed, his words almost forgotten amongst the sounds that fill their silence to the brim and spill over the edge of their firsts. a drawn out moan escapes as he finally comes in mark’s hand, eyes shut and phosphenes littering his vision; mark lets him ride it out and when youngjae’s sated he pulls his hand back out and chooses a random shirt on the ground to be the victim of the aftermath. 

youngjae’s grip loosens as his arms fall back to his side and he feels the soft press of mark’s lips against the corner of his mouth. “what about you?” he murmurs, pleasure still surging through his veins, his fingers searching for marks to hold. “it’s not fair.” 

mark lightly chuckles, brushes the bangs back from youngjae’s face and simply says, “it’s okay. maybe next time.” youngjae feels something stir inside him at the mention of ‘ _next time_ ’ because it implies mark will want more, that this won't just be a one time thing between them. it reaffirms his belief that mark will always love him and want him in more ways than just one, that he means much more than that; youngjae has never felt such peace and _love_ —his heart swells at the idea of it all. 

“hmm,” youngjae hums, feeling sleepy and languid against the soft of the bed. “next time.”


End file.
